The planning season is upon us. The lengthening days are barely keep up with the optimism of the seasons. It is late winter, time to start planing the summer garden. Having endured forced idleness from the garden, I am looking forward to turning dirt over, digging paths/troughs to raise my beds, even weeding. I just want to get my gloves into the soil. There is such joy in planning the garden, imagining the summer bounty, fall harvest, winter preserves. The frustrating reality of fighting slugs for my greens, spraying uncountable aphids off my plum-tree, and trying not to cry eek over every spider I find amongst the tomatoes is a long way away. I still see my garden as paradise.
It has been 4 years since our last European holiday. Having great fun planning what may be a self-guided bike tour through Holland with the hubby. We shall have lots of fun biking in a country that has only 400 feet above sea level as its highest point. I see us touring through fields of tulips, playing farmgolf, drinking Heineken, Amstel and other fine Dutch beers. Jet lag, sunburn and muscle cramps are not part of my holiday plans. Our European holiday will be like traveling with Candide, “The best of all possible worlds.”
My seventeen year old son is not accompanying my husband and me on this trip. As wonderful of a boy that he is, I can’t trust him to water the garden, weed (ya, right) and pick the bounty when ripe. He might walk the dogs, maybe. I’ve seen the movie, Risky Business. We are not going to leave him alone in our house for two weeks.
I was about 30, 32 when I decided I wanted a child. I envisioned a baby, cute as a bug, a bright happy grade-schooler and a slightly taller than me talkative teen who would tell me all about their day at school and their dreams. What I have is Heffalump (borrowed the description from a friend of mine. It is so apt). He’s big, sometimes ungainly, quiet, with grunts for words. He is a 5 foot 10 inch eating and milk drinking machine. He is a typical teenaged boy. I love him, long-ish hair and all.
Re-reading my dreams on this page I realized some things. Gardening is fun because I get to plan and dream every year. Planning holidays abroad are great for wonder dreams every 5 years or so. My plans and dreams for my only child were big. Even before I met the future father of my child, I had my off-spring with an advanced degree, married and with a few kids of their own running about.
Dreams make us human, they’re what we live for.
